Caricamento
Trova il tuo prossimo book preferito
Abbonati oggi e leggi gratis per 30 giorniInizia la tua prova gratuita di 30 giorniInformazioni sul libro
The Clergyman Spy: Book One in Nephilim Rising
Azioni libro
Inizia a leggereLunghezza: 246 pagine3 ore
- Editore:
- Tellwell Publishing
- Pubblicato:
- Dec 3, 2019
- ISBN:
- 9780228810704
- Formato:
- Libro
Descrizione
A story inspired by true events in the lives of the author's parents.
What Eryk Masaryk doesn't know, is that his desire to go West unleashes powers from out of this world. His plan of escaping through the Iron Curtain during the height of the Cold War entangles him and his new bride, Jasha Kern, in a sinister plot by the fallen angels, called Nephilim. When the age-old volcano erupts, Mr. Montegue marshals the forces of the Nephilim to acquire the secret of the Sangue di Christo wine grape grown only on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Will Fritz and Lucia, Eryk's closest friends and owners of the di Costanza orchard estate, succeed in getting Eryk and Jasha across the border and free of the deadly clutches of the Nephilim? And how far will the forces of history, myth and the church conspire against Eryk's pursuit of a new life in a new land?
Informazioni sul libro
The Clergyman Spy: Book One in Nephilim Rising
Lunghezza: 246 pagine3 ore
Descrizione
A story inspired by true events in the lives of the author's parents.
What Eryk Masaryk doesn't know, is that his desire to go West unleashes powers from out of this world. His plan of escaping through the Iron Curtain during the height of the Cold War entangles him and his new bride, Jasha Kern, in a sinister plot by the fallen angels, called Nephilim. When the age-old volcano erupts, Mr. Montegue marshals the forces of the Nephilim to acquire the secret of the Sangue di Christo wine grape grown only on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Will Fritz and Lucia, Eryk's closest friends and owners of the di Costanza orchard estate, succeed in getting Eryk and Jasha across the border and free of the deadly clutches of the Nephilim? And how far will the forces of history, myth and the church conspire against Eryk's pursuit of a new life in a new land?
- Editore:
- Tellwell Publishing
- Pubblicato:
- Dec 3, 2019
- ISBN:
- 9780228810704
- Formato:
- Libro
Informazioni sull'autore
Martin Malina is an ordained priest and identical twin son of Polish immigrants. Since his Polish surname, Malina, means raspberry he publishes sermons on his popular preaching blog, 'raspberryman.wordpress.com'. Martin lives with his wife and two teenaged children near Ottawa, Canada.
Correlati a The Clergyman Spy
Anteprima del libro
The Clergyman Spy - Martin Malina
Epilogue
Prologue
The grape produced from the slopes of Mount Vesuvius in southern Italy was the choicest and most sought-after vintage among the Romans, the Greeks, and the Etruscans before them. According to a notation in the Antonius chronicle from the 1st century C.E., a casket of wine was checked out of the port of Neapolis on a mercantile skiff destined for Jerusalem during the Roman occupation of Palestine …
–lecture notes from Myth & Legend in the Ancient World,
Professor Gurion Luchowsky, University of Marburg Germany
Jerusalem, 33 C.E.
Bractus, we will be late. We must make market before sundown.
Ten-year-old Sebastian raised his pre-pubescent voice above the sound of hooves on the earthen road.
He gave his camel a swat on its behind as he tried to keep up with the long stride of the tall beast of a man lumbering ahead of him. Always ahead.
If it wasn’t for you running off into the wadi outside of Jaffa, we would already be there,
Bractus hollered without looking back. "I should be ordering you to hurry up." Somehow his deep voice bellowed above the snorting camel between them.
Bractus Aurelius wore the armor of a Roman centurion. In fact, Sebastian never saw Bractus without his armour. On their planned yet hasty departure nearly a month ago, Bractus looked like a god to Sebastian, his armour reflecting the moonlight, and his tall, wide frame standing at the bow, towering over the quiet midnight harbour.
Now, Bractus looked almost human under the setting sun, his once unblemished armour scuffed and covered with a film of dust. His square jaw lined a grizzly face that hadn’t seen a razor blade in the month-long journey from Naples. His exposed face and arms bore the scars of a veteran swordsman.
Sebastian couldn’t explain why he felt secure under Bractus’ tutelage and protection. He just did. Especially here where he saw Roman soldiers all along the Palestinian coast, waving their swords and barking orders at anyone who threatened them. When Sebastian and Bractus had unloaded the wineskins from the skiff in the Jaffa port and secured the camels for the journey up to Jerusalem, Sebastian saw death for the first time. Men hung on crosses lining the road. The crucifixions had happened recently, Sebastian figured, since only small pieces of the dead men’s flesh had been ripped away by the vultures circling above like a swirling dark cloud.
Bractus had placed one thick arm around his chest and gently turned him away from the macabre scene. All men die,
he said quietly. It’s how we live that matters.
It was the only time Sebastian remembered Bractus standing behind him.
On the journey, Sebastian began to feel something grow inside his heart—affection and love for his giant protector. Sebastian began to think of Bractus as a father. It was, after all, Bractus who was teaching him the ways of the world on this dangerous mission and letting him explore the boundaries of an energetic and mischievous youth. It was Bractus against whom he rebelled and tested his growing initiative. Bractus was more than his protector.
On the stony shores of the island of Ischia, where their journey across the Mediterranean was launched those long weeks ago, Bractus had given Sebastian a small gift—an eyeglass.
There are great mysteries lying beyond what you can see with your eyes, Nino,
Bractus had said, offering him the gift. Sebastian liked it when Bractus called him Nino. It was Bractus’ way of letting Sebastian see his soft heart which was so often hidden behind the impenetrable chainmail.
On occasion, especially when the storms struck the boat with the unrelenting punishment of wind and wave, Sebastian was ordered to retreat into the relative safety of the ship’s hull. There, he retrieved the smooth round glass to examine the small spiders scampering across the bilge.
Sebastian marveled at the detail he could examine when one of those spiders stayed still for a moment, seeing things he never knew existed—the tiny hairs and eyes and subtle variant colours on the creature’s body.
It was the prospect of examining a rare butterfly that fluttered into the wadi a day’s walk east from the Jaffa harbour that had raised the ire of the crusty old Sicilian.
Sebastian lowered his head. He knew he had disobeyed his protector. But, since he was the firstborn son of Francesco di Costanza, landowner of the famous vineyard that supplied the Mediterranean’s finest wine, he felt he should practice exercising some initiative befitting his high social rank.
Sebastian also knew the real reason for their delay. A storm on the Mediterranean had kept them windbound on the island of Crete for a fortnight. Luckily, the captain of their skiff was a seasoned sailor, and he was able to take advantage of the winds to make up some lost time once the weather had cleared. They were going to make it. The governor would get his wine in time.
The camel shifted its weight, negotiating the cobblestone Roman road, causing the dozens of wineskins to slosh about their contents. Bractus and Sebastian walked aside the line of camels bearing the weight of filled wineskins bound for Jerusalem. Sebastian recognized the Golden Gate as the caravan approached the holy city.
Bractus finally turned his chiseled face towards the boy. This road should be crowded with beggars, peddlers and pilgrims. We are fortunate that way. Everyone must already be gathering for the Festival of Passover.
Sebastian now looked up at the imposing arch of the gate. Bractus brought the caravan to a halt when two Roman soldiers, standing in the shadows to avoid the heat of the desert sun, stepped forward.
In the name of Emperor Augustus, what is your purpose in these walls?
The taller of the two stepped forward and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Sebastian noticed his eyes narrow into two tiny slits that ran parallel to the bottom rim of the helmet hanging low over his forehead.
We bring wine for Governor Pontius Pilatus. A delivery from di Costanza to the political council on the eve of Passover,
Bractus announced. We come from far away and seek rest and food at the end of our journey.
The soldier lifted his eyebrows. You may just make the reception. Your timing is impeccable. It’s in the courtyard of the Antonio fortress. Straight ahead, then on your right.
The soldier’s eyes then moved from the wineskin-laden camel to the supply camel and finally rested on Sebastian.
And who is your friend?
the soldier asked.
My son,
Bractus lied, resting his hand on the broadsword strapped to his waist. Bractus stood a full head-length taller than the soldier. Sebastian eyed his protector, hoping Bractus’ impressive frame alone would scare the Roman guard. But his sword would accomplish the same, if necessary. Sebastian was certain.
The guard turned to let them through.
Your wine had better do the trick at calming hotheads. Nothing else has worked.
The soldier lowered his voice. The Sanhedrin council has found little success in stopping the zealots from their brutality. Keep your eyes open. It isn’t safe in this city.
Sebastian was amazed at the ease with which they had entered the city. Because of his name alone, even Roman soldiers made way for their transport amid the threat of war.
Sebastian was proud of the di Costanza name, despite his father’s neglect. Francesco paid very little attention to his son, hardly spending any time with the boy even on their elaborate beach vacations down the coast where Francesco spent more time in the town’s pleasure houses than with him.
Despite feeling abandoned by his father, Sebastian knew that his family’s vineyard on the southern slopes of Vesuvius yielded the best vino rosso in the world. He knew that one day he would become the chief steward of the vineyard. So Sebastian wanted to learn everything there was to know about the grape. And how to sell it.
He once overheard an argument his father had with a local trader who complained that the grapes were vulnerable and fragile. In response, his father challenged the bargain hunter to find another vine that was heartier, that could survive without forming black spots on its petals in the coldest months of the year. He could go elsewhere! Because the truth was that the climate, soil conditions and temperatures, as well as the near constant daytime sun in Neapolis, almost guaranteed a productive harvest and many buyers from all over the world year after year.
So, when his father received notice that the governor of Palestine wanted several caches of the precious grape for the festival, the young Sebastian declared his desire to go on this adventure. Francesco hardly objected, despite the trip’s many potential dangers. Sebastian was not surprised at his father’s careless, lazy attitude towards him. The following week, the expedition set out with Bractus in charge of both the merchandise and Francesco’s ten-year-old son.
With Bractus leading, the caravan was turning into the open plaza in front of the building housing the Roman Garrison when a shout rang out from amid the crowd of merchants, buyers and sellers in the marketplace.
Down with the Emperor!
Sebastian’s mood changed quickly. If he had dismissed the warnings of the gate guards, there was little question now that they were walking into an escalating situation.
Sebastian pressed into Bractus’ armoured leg as the crowds started moving faster. Bodies rushing in the ebb and flow of a growing melee disoriented him. Somewhere across the plaza blades of steel clanked and men’s voices barked. A woman screamed. Plumes of black smoke rose from the far side of the square.
Sebastian yanked on Bractus’ elbow. What should we do?
A riot is breaking, Nino,
Bractus said. The large man’s eyes widened as he focused on the crackling flames atop the protestors’ torches. Bractus led them to a low half wall separating the roadway from the plaza and bent down to level with Sebastian’s sand-caked eyelids. He gave Sebastian the end of the bridle strap of the lead camel. Nino, you will have to guard our merchandise until I return. I have to find the governor’s buyers who agreed to meet us here. Stay here.
The melee was intensifying. Shouts of pain, cries of anguish, more bodies moving quickly and anxiously about.
Kill the Romans!
Then the synchronized thump of Roman boots. The gates of the fortress opened, and row upon row of Roman soldiers advanced on the crowd.
Suddenly two men were speaking with Bractus who had barely moved from where they were in the plaza. Could these men be the governor’s buyers? If they could just pay Bractus, take the camels and leave, quickly…
Sebastian saw the bloodied tip of a sword slice through the heart of one of the buyers. His partner scattered, shouting words Sebastian could not understand. The dying man doubled over as one of the rebels in the square retrieved his weapon from the buyer’s lifeless body. His eyes widened as he looked up and down at Bractus’ armour. Roman traitor!
he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. Bractus cut him down with one swift move, then retrieved a few satchels of wine from the leather pouches still hanging from the nearest camel and kneeled again in front of Sebastian. Dark blood speckled his fearsome brow.
I’m a target in this damned hell-hole,
Bractus spat a wad of spittle and blood onto the warm stone pavement and looked warily over his shoulder before looking Sebastian in the eye. Remember those men hanging on the crosses, Nino? It’s not death that is the most important in a man’s life; it’s how he lives it.
Sebastian nodded, unsure of his response. Then he started shaking his head. Would Bractus die here?
I’m not leaving this place without a fight. And I’m not bringing you into it.
Bractus placed the satchel of wine on the ground in front of Sebastian and placed his free hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
You will need to finish this, Nino. Now, listen to me. Take this sack and get out of here now. Hide somewhere. And when this fight is over, go find the governor. He will likely be in the praetorium later tonight or tomorrow. If I get out of here alive, I will find you. But you have to go from this place, now. Run far into the city and wait until things settle down before making your move. I will find you. Do you hear?
Sebastian continued to shake his head, his eyes wide with horror. How could he do this alone? Bractus turned Sebastian around and gave him a gentle yet firm push. After running several steps away, Sebastian peeked over his shoulder. More men waving swords and screaming insults were running towards Bractus who had straightened to his full gigantic size to face them. Then Bractus yelled into the courtyard words Sebastian knew were meant only for him: Go, do your heritage proud!
came as the rebels swarmed over Bractus.
Sebastian half dragged, half carried the heavy sack of skins into the alleyway. Running more on adrenaline than thought or intent, Sebastian did not stop until the crowd’s roar was but a dull whisper on the breeze that cooled his sweaty and dusty brow. He leaned against the side of a building, slid to the ground and sighed.
Tears welled and dripped onto the sandy stone street as he dropped his head forward between his legs. Sebastian closed his eyes only to see the emblazoned image in his mind: his long-time friend and true father, fighting for his life against the mob.
He opened his eyes as he sensed movement around him. A shadow appeared on the ground in front of him. Sebastian lifted his head but could only see the outline of a robed man standing before him against the sun. Sebastian tried shielding his eyes but still could not identify the stranger in front of him.
You lost, boy?
the man’s gentle voice said.
Sebastian heard the braying of a mule. When they moved out of the light, Sebastian noticed a hooded man had been walking with a donkey roped to his hand. And he was not alone. A bald man stood silently behind him, his dark eyes probing.
Sebastian instinctively put his arm around the sack of wine and stood up. A small satchel rolled out of the sack, its goat skin stretching as the contents jiggled like a giant jellyfish on the ground. The hooded man with the gentle voice gave the end of the donkey’s rope to his companion. Then, slowly, he leaned down to look carefully at the label glued to the sack’s leather surface. His hood fell back to reveal thick curls of hair.
This is good wine,
he said, then looked quizzically at the boy. Where are you from?
I need to find the governor. I brought them for him.
The bald man stepped forward. For a moment, the top of his head reflected the sunlight, causing Sebastian to squint. A large nose protruded above a smile that stretched across his flat face.
My lord, you asked only for a donkey. The others will gather the bread and wine for the Passover.
John, God is good,
the man with the kind face and thick curls said. God has led the boy to this very place in time so we can drink this wine for the meal.
I will want payment, to take to my father,
Sebastian blurted out with a tone of growing defiance. His patience was wearing thin. He noticed that the clamour from the square was growing louder. The riot was spreading. And Bractus had not yet found him.
Your gift will be a blessing to many people for a long time to come, said the man with the kind face and soft voice.
The donkey whined again, straining on its harness. It must be sensing the danger from the growing raucous, thought Sebastian.
Join us for the meal,
the man continued. You will be safe with us. You will meet another friend, Judas, who will leave during supper. Follow him. He will be going to his contacts in the Sanhedrin. They can deliver your wine to the governor then book passage for you back to Sicily.
Wait, how did you know…?
John pulled at the donkey’s rope and turned to the kind man who covered his head again as he stood. Surely we can repay the boy for one bottle for the meal?
The hood moved slowly up and down, its large cowl shrouding the man’s face in shadow. We know, not by sight but by what lies in our hearts.
For a second, the kind man’s words sounded like something Bractus would say.
The three of them walked a short way to a stone staircase where the man, whom the kind man called John, tied the donkey to a beam at its foot. Then John helped carry the sack of wineskins up the stairs. Sebastian followed diligently, wondering what he was getting himself into, yet sensing he could trust these men.
The kind man’s words rolled around in his head like the wine in the leather pouches. Sebastian put his hand in his front pocket and fingered the
Hai raggiunto la fine di questa anteprima. Registrati per continuare a leggere!
Pagina 1 di 1
Recensioni
Recensioni
Cosa pensano gli utenti di The Clergyman Spy
0Valutazione: 0 stelle su 5
0 valutazioni / 0 recensioni
Cosa ne pensi?
Valutazione: stelle su 5